


Traditions: A Big O Story

by ikarusonesun



Category: The Big O
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Don't copy to another site, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Holidays, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:07:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21844897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikarusonesun/pseuds/ikarusonesun
Summary: Roger Smith and R. Dorothy Wayneright discover that a simple Heaven's Day gift exchange can have a multitude of meanings. A continuation from S01 E11 - "Daemonseed."
Comments: 5
Kudos: 16
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Traditions: A Big O Story

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SeasonOfMists](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeasonOfMists/gifts).



DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fan fiction incorporating characters and situations from the Sunrise anime/manga series _The Big O._ Sunrise and its various media distributors hold sole exclusive rights to their use. The author is in no way affiliated with Sunrise or its distributors, nor has this story been submitted for any commercial purpose.

**_Traditions:_ **  
_**A Big O Story  
**_ by Ikarus Onesun

In her quarters within the Smith Mansion, R. Dorothy Wayneright sat silently on a richly upholstered settea in her room, contemplating the festive-looking green box that lay opposite her upon the ornate four-poster bed. All through the night and into the early morning, she had remained motionless, her obsidian eyes fixed on the long garment box, and to an observer it would have almost seemed as if she had entered her normal power conservation mode. But within her android brain, her processors were working overtime on a problem which seemed to defy all manner of machine logic.

From her memory bank, her central processing unit recalled the conversation from two nights previous that she had engaged in with the master of the house, the Negotiator Roger Smith, and the house butler, Norman Burg - in particular, Norman’s explanation of the traditions regarding Heaven’s Day, Paradigm City’s annual celebration of its founding. The elderly butler had described how the Paradigm Corporation, which governed Paradigm City, initially marked the occasion by giving alms to the city’s poor in the form of bread and wine, and how the tradition eventually grew to include gifts of money and goods. To Dorothy, this seemed like an agreeable enough practice.

But then, Norman had unexpectedly thrown her logic routines into turmoil with his next comment.

“Another tradition exists where you give presents to the one you love.”

Dorothy had been aware for some time of the Heaven’s Day tradition of gift giving. She had researched the custom in the weeks leading up to the holiday, and in her attempt to emulate the practice, she had gone out into the city in search of a present for Roger. At the time, she had not attached any particular significance to the gesture - humans gave each other presents on Heaven’s Day, and so, as an artificial human, she had adopted the behavior as she would any other, in order to better integrate herself within her relatively new existence in the household of the Smith Mansion.

She had spent what she considered to be an incredibly wasteful amount of time searching for the perfect tie for Roger - it had to be expensive, of unmatched quality, and above all else, it _had_ to be black. These three requirements of what was nothing more than a simple fashion accessory appeared to be much more difficult to be met by a single garment than she had initially calculated, but she had eventually found a shop that had a suitable tie in stock, and she had purchased it for Roger to give to him on Heaven’s Day. As she was leaving the shop, she experienced a strange series of phenomena that was initially difficult for her Turing circuit to appraise, but she had eventually recognized it as an _emotive_ response to her purchase, rather than an analytic one - it was something akin to satisfaction, or perhaps… _pride._

But after the conversation she’d had over dinner with Roger and Norman, a different emotive response was now being generated from somewhere within Dorothy’s core processor - one that was proving considerably more difficult for her Turing circuit to isolate and identify.

 _Norman said that Heaven’s Day was a day for giving presents to the one you love,_ she thought.

_I gave a present to Roger - and he gave one to me._

_Do I… love Roger?_

_And does he love me?_

Throughout the night, Dorothy had devoted more and more of her processing resources, running subroutine after subroutine, in a fruitless attempt to resolve both of these questions, as she sat silently observing the box on her bed that contained the beautiful new winter dress that Roger had given her as a Heaven’s Day gift.

 _He cannot love me,_ she reasoned, although no matter how many times she proposed this explanation, it somehow did not seem to be an adequate resolution to the problem.

_I am an android – an artificial human._

_I am not like him. I am what I am._

_I will always have this same body and this same heart._

_He cannot love me._

_And yet… he gave me a gift. On Heaven’s Day._

_On Heaven’s Day, you give gifts to the one you love..._

Glinting in the darkness, Dorothy’s shiny onyx eyes seemed to narrow imperceptibly, and a tiny frown turned down the corners of her delicate mouth, as she recalled another recent experience from her memory bank - her recent kidnapping for the second time at the hands of Roger Smith’s self-styled nemesis, Jason Beck. 

The first time she had been abducted, the technologically proficient but otherwise strategically inept Beck had attempted to use Dorothy to take control of the giant Megadeus, Dorothy-1. Beck’s plan was ultimately foiled when Roger Smith had used his own Megadeus, Big O, to subdue Dorothy-1 while he risked his own life to free R. Dorothy from the rogue Megadeus’ wiring and break Beck’s control over her. But the second time, Beck’s plan was simpler - and much more sinister. 

Beck had lured Roger and Dorothy to his underground hideout, where he had sprung a trap for the Negotiator. Using an industrial magnet to immobilize Dorothy, Beck had quickly fixed a new and different control band across Dorothy’s brow, one that he had programmed with a single command - to use Dorothy’s inhuman strength to seize Roger Smith in her arms, and then mercilessly crush the life out of him.

The plan would have worked, and Roger Smith, helpless in Dorothy’s lethal embrace, was only seconds away from death… when an odd thing happened. 

Something deep within her programming, possibly some obscure subroutine or other ancillary function that she was previously unaware of, must have somehow been triggered as a defense against Beck’s control band. Her diagnostics had never fully resolved her response to the band’s hijacking of her primary functions, but somehow, she had eventually been able to reassert control over herself, saving Roger’s life and short-circuiting the band in the process. The resources she had diverted to neutralizing the band had left her essentially non-functional for several hours afterward, but one event that had occurred during her struggle to regain control of her core functions continued to frustrate her, despite her internal diagnostics’ repeated attempts to explain her odd declaration to Roger Smith as she fought to save him from a certain death at her hands.

_“Roger… I love you.”_

She had run the diagnostic routine multiple times, contrary to her logic circuit’s insistence that the data was correct and that follow-up scans were unnecessary, but she had overridden the routine again and again, re-running the diagnostic scan over and over and over.

No matter how many times she adjusted the parameters of the routine, the result was the same each time - her expression of love for Roger Smith had _not_ been prompted by the control band that Beck had developed to murder the Negotiator.

Outside her window, Dorothy noted that the sun had begun to rise. There was much work to be done today, and she needed to get an early start. Rising from the settea with a sound that almost resembled a sigh, the redheaded android regarded the green package one more time with a pensive look that betrayed the uncertainty of her inner deliberations, before she turned and made her way downstairs, leaving the box behind on the bed.

o o o

Roger Smith was a man who enjoyed the finer pleasures of life. Tailored clothing, fine wines, rare whiskies, expensive cars - the Negotiator was well known in Paradigm City for his love of the exotic.

He was also _very_ well known within his household for his love of sleeping in late on his off days, a pleasure that he had rarely had a chance to enjoy since the addition of R. Dorothy Wayneright to the mansion's staff. And this morning, the day after Heaven’s Day, was proving to be no exception.

Normally, Roger would be roused out of his sleep by Dorothy’s loud, raucous playing on his antique grand piano downstairs. Even after he had contracted the famed android pianist R. Instro to instruct Dorothy on the more subtle aspects of the instrument, she still insisted on beginning her practice far too early in the morning for his liking, even if the quality of the music she produced had improved significantly.

Today though, it was not the piano that had awoken him - it was the clanging and banging of pots and pans coming from the kitchen. It was unlike Norman to make such a racket while he prepared the morning breakfast, and this piqued the Negotiator’s curiosity, so he rolled out of his bed with a groan and reached for his robe.

As he stepped down the grand staircase, the smell of eggs and ham greeted him, and a smile crossed his face as he made his way to the kitchen entrance - a smile that abruptly fell when he discovered _who_ was making all the noise.

Behind the counter, R. Dorothy Wayneright was tending to a fry pan full of hashed potatoes, while she kept her attention fixed on another pan in which a freshly poured omelet was bubbling away. She glanced up from the stove and fixed him with an impassive black stare.

“Roger,” she said, acknowledging the presence of the master of the house.

“Hello, Dorothy,” the tall Negotiator replied as he stifled a yawn, before glancing around the otherwise empty kitchen. “Where is Norman?"

“Norman has taken today off,” the redheaded android replied. “He left a message for you. He said that he was going out this morning to visit all of the vendors that support our household, to give them gifts.”

“Oh, that’s right, I forgot – he still keeps to that old tradition, even though he has no idea where it comes from, or even why it’s important to him.”

“Tradition?” Dorothy inquired flatly. She performed a quick query of her internal database as she posed the question, but could find no entries for traditions that fell on the day after Heaven’s Day. “Have the traditions associated with Heaven’s Day not already concluded?”

“Most, yes. But Norman grew up in a place far from Paradigm City, and he has a memory of a tradition that apparently comes from his homeland,” Roger replied, running his fingers through his unruly mop of uncoiffed black hair. “It’s his way of thanking all of the people who bring us our food and drink, who wash our clothing and linens, who repair our vehicles, who take care of our business concerns, even the people who take away our trash. It takes a lot more people than just you and Norman to keep this place up and running, you know.”

Dorothy considered this for a moment, before turning her stolid gaze back to the Negotiator.

“What sort of gifts?” she asked, as she gestured to Roger to take a seat at the dining table before turning back to the stove and flipping the omelet onto a plate.

Roger settled into the ornate armchair at the head of the table where Dorothy had prepared a place setting for him, and thought a moment. “Well, nothing too extravagant, really - usually just some small token to show our appreciation for all of the assistance they provide us. Norman has been keeping to this tradition as long as I’ve known him.”

Dorothy approached the table and laid the steaming plate of omelet and potatoes in front of the Negotiator, then returned with a pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice. She filled a glass in front of Roger and looked on in silence as he downed it in one gulp before tucking into the eggs.

“Roger,” she said, in a slightly muted tone, “would it be acceptable for me to offer a gift to someone who has been of assistance to me?"

Roger glanced up at her, and noted that the android’s expression seemed slightly… _off._ She appeared to be oddly distracted, as though she were trying to work out an extremely complex problem in her head while attempting to maintain an otherwise normal conversation.

“Um… well, I don’t really see why not. Who did you have in mind?"

Dorothy picked up the pitcher of orange juice and refilled Roger’s glass as long moments ticked by, before she finally responded to the Negotiator’s question.

“I would like to present a gift to R. Instro, to show my appreciation to him for teaching me to play the nocturne.”

“Well, I think that’s very kind of you, Dorothy. I’d be happy to go into town with you to help find a suitable present, and then we can stop by the restaurant to give it to him.”

“I already know what I would like to give him,” the redheaded android responded. “I would like to give him… a metronome.”

Roger’s brows knit together in confusion at this. “A metronome?” he asked, perplexed. “But Instro is an android, like you. What need would he have for a metronome? He can play perfectly well without one.”

If he didn’t know better, Roger would have sworn that Dorothy’s face fell ever so slightly at the comment.

“It is true - Instro has no need for a metronome,” she confirmed in her customary monotone. “And that is the point - the most important lesson that Instro taught me was that my playing does not need to be perfect in order to be appealing to the human ear. In fact, in many cases, not playing perfectly in time can sometimes improve the aesthetic quality of a particular piece of music. I wish to give him the metronome to show him that I understood his lesson.”

Roger considered this, then looked up at Dorothy with a grin. “I think that’s very… _thoughtful_ of you, Dorothy. Let me finish breakfast and get cleaned up, and then I’ll take you to an antique shop I know in town that has some lovely old metronomes that I think Instro would be very happy with.”

Dorothy was silent as Roger turned his attention back to his breakfast. Her obsidian eyes fixed on the Negotiator as he ate, then flickered away, then fixed on Roger again. Finally, she gave in to the odd compulsion that seemed to be building within her logic circuits.

“Roger,” Dorothy said with a hint of hesitation in her otherwise flat tone.

“Mmm-hmm?” was the Negotiator’s reply, as he reached for the morning paper while working on a mouthful of potatoes.

“Roger,” Dorothy said again, “do you have a present for Norman?”

Roger paused, then nodded his head. “Yes, I do - Norman is very fond of old books, so this year I was able to find him an antique leatherbound copy of the complete works of William Shakespeare. I’ll give it to him later, after he returns from the city.”

Dorothy raised a ruddy eyebrow at this. “So… you consider Norman to be the same as the people to whom he is giving gifts today - someone who serves you in order to keep the household operating?”

The question seemed to irk the Negotiator, and he shot an indignant stare at the android with his own coal-black eyes. Something in Dorothy’s tone told him that this conversation was about to take an uncomfortable turn - and he didn't like it one bit.

“Norman is _very_ important to me,” Roger shot back. “I couldn’t do anything that I do - living in this house, negotiating all over Paradigm City, piloting Big O - none of it would be possible without him. Besides that, I consider him to be my friend.”

Dorothy’s response was measured, and cool. “But you do not love Norman?”

Roger was dumbfounded at the question. “I’m sorry, Dorothy, but I’m not really sure what you’re getting at. Norman is a very good friend of mine, and he has served me well as my butler. I have the utmost respect for him, and I appreciate everything that he does for me.”

The android considered this. “So this is why you will give him his present today, instead of on Heaven’s Day - he is someone you appreciate because of his service to you.”

Roger rolled his eyes, dropping his fork onto his half-finished plate with a clatter before standing up out of his seat. “I… well, I guess I’ve just always felt that today would be a more appropriate time to give him a gift, instead of on Heaven’s Day, which, I’ll remind you, is _not_ my favourite day! In fact, before _you_ came along, Norman was the only person I _ever_ gave a gift to at this time of year!”

“I see.”

The android fell silent again for long moments. Roger began to feel a strange feeling of apprehension twisting his insides. He hoped that Dorothy would be satisfied with his last response, and would have no further questions for him.

His hopes were abruptly dashed.

“Roger,” Dorothy began again, “you gave me my gift yesterday - on Heaven’s Day.”

Roger ran his fingers through his thick black shock of hair and gave a moment’s consideration to tearing some of it out. What on Earth was she going on about?

“Yes, I did, and frankly, I’m beginning to regret it - what _of_ it?”

The android took a few steps forward, until she was standing directly opposite the tall Negotiator, her eyes fixing on his.

“I exist in this household to serve, just as Norman does. I dust the furniture and mop the floors, I dispose of the trash, I assist Norman with the preparation of meals and occasionally with the maintenance of Big O - and yet, you gave me a gift on Heaven’s Day, instead of today, when it is customary to give gifts to those who provide services to you.”

Roger was now beginning to feel dizzy, so he slumped back in the armchair.

“Dorothy, I’m sorry - what _difference_ does it make whether it’s today, or yesterday?”

The android’s response was immediate. “Norman said… he said that Heaven’s Day was a day to give presents to… the one you love.”

She stepped forward again until she was mere inches away from Roger, who seemed frozen by her remark. He stared down at her, and was struck by how her normally impassive visage had, oddly, seemed to somehow soften, as she stared back at him with unblinking ebony eyes.

“Yes,” he finally murmured in a low voice, “that’s... what he said.”

The next query swirled within Dorothy’s core processor - but for some reason that she could not immediately ascertain, her verbal expression routine was suddenly experiencing an uncharacteristic lag.

_Do you… love me?_

Time seemed to stop as the two gazed at each other in silence, neither sure of exactly what to say. It was the Negotiator who finally broke the awkward stillness.

“I, um, I seem to recall that you also gave _me_ a gift on Heaven’s Day,” Roger replied archly. “Did you do that just because you thought it was something humans do - or was there more to it than that? Were _you_ following the tradition, Dorothy?”

As he blurted out the words, Roger’s mind flashed back to the scene a few weeks ago, when he had nearly died while attempting to free Dorothy from Beck’s control band, and he recalled the words that the android had spoken as she struggled to override the band’s interference.

_Roger… I love you..._

It was now Dorothy’s turn to be momentarily taken aback by Roger’s question. A number of possible responses flew through her processors - some of which were genuinely surprising to her - before her protocol filter chose what she deemed to be the most tactful response.

“I… was not aware of the meaning of the tradition… Norman did not explain the significance of Heaven’s Day to me until after I had purchased the gift.”

Roger raised an eyebrow in amusement at this, as Dorothy’s gaze uncharacteristically dropped to the floor. “So… you’re saying it was a _mistake?”_ he chided with a grin.

She glanced back up and met his gaze once again. “It was not,” she affirmed shortly. “I wanted you to have something nice. And frankly, I am beginning to regret it.”

Her terse remark raised a hearty chuckle out of the Negotiator, which seemed to somehow irritate the android. “Well, Heaven’s Day or no, it was a lovely present, and in case I didn’t express my gratitude properly at the time - thank you very much for the beautiful tie.”

Roger could have sworn that Dorothy had attempted to roll her eyes. “It is a funeral tie.”

“It’s black, and shiny, and I love it. Now, let’s get ready to go into town so that we can find something for Instro. And Dorothy - I would like it very much... if you would wear your new dress.”

Dorothy regarded the Negotiator thoughtfully. “Of course,” she assented primly. “And you will wear your new tie.”

“Well, I _was_ planning to save it for another day, but… I guess today would be as good a day as any to try it on.”

“It was not a request. You _will_ wear your new tie.”

Roger shrugged, amused by her sudden assertiveness. “Very well then – I just hope I can figure out which is the one you gave me, since all of my ties are black,” he needled, grinning.

“You’re such a louse, Roger Smith.”

An hour later, R. Dorothy Wayneright, resplendent in her new winter attire, was seated in the passenger seat of the Griffin as it roared to life. Beside her, Roger Smith, Paradigm City’s finest Negotiator, gunned the long black automobile down the boulevard toward the heart of the city, in search of a metronome for an android pianist. 

And all the while, both of them silently contemplated the significance of Heaven’s Day - and of how, for both of them, a simple tradition could have such a complex meaning…

_**We have come to terms** _


End file.
